


Fly By Night Only

by Steamcraft



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 10:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steamcraft/pseuds/Steamcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’m always so fond and amazed by Hanna, but I should know better than to act upon my impulses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly By Night Only

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Fly By Night Only' by The Glitch Mob.

I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I’m always so fond and amazed by Hanna, but I should know better than to act upon my impulses.

I slowly stand straight, and immediately Hanna brings a hand up to his lips, looking up at me with wide-eyed surprise.

"You kissed me," Hanna says without accusation or becoming upset. Simply states it aloud as if still processing. I nod in agreement because that’s what I did and I best stand to my actions and their consequences. I can see the gears turning in his head, but his mouth opens and closes like doesn’t know what to say.

"I won’t do it again without your permission," I promise. "And I won’t leave you if you tell me no." I know Hanna well enough to know he wouldn’t ask me to leave; that would be all in my decision.

Hanna’s eyes light up and he nods decidedly, removes his glasses, and snuggles into his blankets.

  
  
  
  


Sometimes I try to remember myself and my impulses, but Hanna never slighted me about affectionate touches.

My hands linger too long on his arms.

I hold him close when he’s hurt.

I run my fingers through his hair when he laughs at a simple wonder.

I clasp his hand in mine when he’s having a nightmare.

I want to kiss him for each paper crane.

Hanna would say something if he has a problem with my affections.

  
  
  


 

"Monet? Can you, like, uhm…" Hanna trails, bright in the face. "May I have a kiss goodnight?"

If my heart could beat, I’m positive it’d be racing now. I stare at him for a long moment, then ask, “Why?”

Hanna hesitates, hands fidgeting. “Because I haven’t had one in a long time.”

“Okay,” I say, because I want to kiss him.

I lean over and cup his cheek delicately. I can feel the quick, shallow breaths Hanna takes as I near his face. As much as I wish to kiss his lips again, I refrain and redirect my mouth to his forehead. Hanna tenses under me before he relaxes, lets out a steady stream of air. I back away, gauge his expression.

He smiles at me. “Thanks,” he says, and I nod.

  
  


 

It becomes routine, Hanna asking for a kiss before going to sleep. Part of me wonders if he misses the love-filled actions from his own loved ones. I keep it interesting, leave him guessing where I’ll kiss him next. Last night, his cheek. The night before that, his nose.

I want to kiss his lips.

Tonight, I take his hand in mine and kiss his palm. Hanna gasps very quietly, and I flick my eyes on him. He’s red in the face again; I haven’t discovered if its because Hanna’s shy or embarrassed or picturing the same acts with someone he adores.

I flatten his hand against my mouth to feel his fingers across my face, and I kiss his hand once more before letting him go.

  
  


 

Hanna walks through the door like the zombie I am not, and I’m there to guide him to his bed before he collapses on the back-breaking couch. I tug his red uniform top over his head and toss it toward the laundry pile growing in the corner.

I remove his glasses and when I turn back around his eyes are shut, breathing softly.

  
  


 

"I should get two kisses tonight," says Hanna the next night as he prepares to lay down.

"Why is that," I ask, humoring, while I dig for a book.

"Because I don’t remember getting one last night."

I stop shuffling through my library bag to look at him. “Hanna…” I start carefully, but he shakes his head at himself.

"I mean, only if you want to, dude." Its said with a dismissive wave, yet there’s that pink flush on his face. I’m not perfect in reading Hanna’s expressions, but this repetitive evening setting and topic has forced me to become hopeful.

I stand and kneel where he sits. “Hanna. I do want to. I want to do anything you’re offering to give me.”

"But?"

"But I want to remind you how deeply I care about you. I will do anything you ask of me, but also because I have nothing left to lose," I say. "I love you, Hanna."

Hanna stares at me for a quiet minute; I see that mind working behind his eyes.

“Just two?” he asks finally.

With my hand threading through his hair, my lips find his ear then trails to his neck. Hanna’s pulse thrums with life I no longer have, rabbit-quick against my mouth.

I wish to taste him.

I wish him goodnight instead.

Hanna returns, “S-see you in the morning, Giacoma.”

  
  


 

As amused as I am to see an inebriated Hanna, I have to remind him to lower his singing voice as we cross into the residential streets. I’m thankful Veser could stay the night with Conrad; I would never chance a minor being drunk in public.

“Ohmigosh, am I that loud?” Hanna loudly asks. A chuckle comes from me unbidden, a head shake because I’m terribly fond of this young man.

It takes me a couple steps to realise Hanna’s fallen behind. I turn and look at him.

He’s staring at me with an open mouth. “That’s the first time you’ve laughed!”

I frown briefly, thinking back. It is. Hanna comes up, slightly stumbling, and grabs my hand in both of his. He smiles big at me, cheeks blushed with alcohol, lips spread from ear to ear.

“You should definitely laugh more often!”

I’m feeling too happy right now to remind him of his volume. Our hands are clasped the rest of the walk home, and I suddenly don’t give a damn about anyone else.

  
  


 

A week passes like so:

A kiss to his eyebrow, a kiss to his temple, a kiss to his forehead, a kiss to his cheek, a kiss to each fingertip, a kiss to his other cheek, a kiss to his wrist.

"Kiss me," Hanna prompts like every other night. His glasses are off and he has a smile lifting his lips as he looks at me. I think I smile back, leaning down.

I kiss the top of his crown, but he makes a displeased sound. Before I even pull away, Hanna asks very quietly, “Kiss my lips?”

Pulling back, I look at him. I want to follow through without thought, yet I need to know, “Are you sure?” I won’t take anything but absolute certainty. At Hanna’s determined nod I put my hands on his cheeks and slowly bend my head to kiss him, giving him time to change his mind. How I hope he doesn’t.

At the first light touch of our mouths, Hanna makes a new sound I like better.

"Another," comes the whisper against my skin. "Please." I tilt Hanna’s head and kiss him with an inspired vigor, pressing harder and my hands sliding into unruly hair. I kiss him like a starving man and Hanna gives back just as much.

His hands grab my shoulders, pulling me in.

And I’m lost in him.

  
  


 

“I’m sorry,” Hanna mumbles piteously for the fifth time in so many minutes. He’s taken to thumping his head against the table. “I should have thought it through, Kingsley.”

I spit out slightly damp salt, shrugging. “Its no big deal,” I say before pouring new salt in my mouth.

“I’ll try to look up a spell or something that will help in future make-out sessions,” he suggests so casually that I stare at him for a long time. Hanna looks up at me, cheeks reddening. “You know,” he adds sheepishly, “if you, ah, want to?”

With my mouth full of salt, I give him a thumbs up and Hanna smiles brightly.

 

  
  
  
Hanna does find a spell, and then some.


End file.
